Ice-Blue, Chocolate-Brown
by LucyFireTen
Summary: <html><head></head>Series of Whouffaldi one-shots with variable length and themes. Can go from K to M. Everything from fluff to angst to whump and etc. I gladly accept prompts (via review or Tumblr). Enjoy, R&R :)</html>
1. About Each Other

**A/N: One-shots, long or short, most likely covering every rating from K to M and every situation. They are not in order or related to each other, some might even be AU. The only things they have in common are the Twelfth Doctor, Clara, and the way I see their relationship. You can also send me prompts here in the reviews or on Tumblr (fire-lucy-the-nerdgirl), I'll be very glad to write something for you. That said, enjoy yourself and drop a review if you like, I'd really appreciate it :) **

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Doctor Who or its characters, even though I'd like to own Peter Capaldi or David Tennant….but that's a whole other story.

**Title:** _About Each Other_

**Rating:** K

**Words:** 445

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"Clara, I'm not your boyfriend."

He says it firmly, even though not without regret. He has never been so explicit with a companion. Not once, not ever. He has always left the door open for them to enter his life, to take his love and rip his hearts into pieces. But not this time, no. This time heartbreak is so utterly certain that he can almost sense it lingering in the air. He has seen the look in her eyes, seen what she craves for: stopping time, rolling it back, rewinding the days back to when he was still her young, dashing loving Doctor.

Clara between everyone else, he has thought would understand, would know. But she doesn't see him. He knows it, he sees it, and it hurts. He's hurt and he won't deny it. He is willing to wait but now, in this moment, his world is falling into pieces and he just has to put a barrier between the two of them.

Besides, he doesn't want to be her boyfriend. Far from it. He's miles away from something so small and frivolous and human. He doesn't want to be her boyfriend, he wants to be her everything: but right here, right now, she's not able to give him that. Perhaps she never will.

~oOo~

"Never thought you were."

She answers simply, honestly. Of course she has never thought he was. They've flirted, joked, hugged, crossed almost every law about personal space, risked their lives for each other, but even though she has fancied him she has always seen it as a one-way thing. She has never seen his clumsy signs of affection as signs of love: after all, he was touchy-feely with everyone.

"Never said it was your mistake."

That sentence startles her and causes her to re-read every second of their time together, looking for any possible meaning besides the obvious one. That sentence leaves her confused, more confused than she already was, and Clara thinks she might just break. She knew regeneration, knew the theory, but what about the practice? How do you actually handle the fact that the most important person of your life has just changed not only in appearance but also in behaviour, way of thinking, view of the world? That's not something they teach you at school, and it's not something she feels ready to learn. Not now, at least, not like this, when she's still trying to embrace the thought that she'll never hear _his_ voice again.

Then her phone rings and everything changes. She discovers she was wrong about hearing his voice again. Then, maybe, -just maybe- she was wrong about everything else too.


	2. Touches

**A/N:** Thank you all for all the kind reviews and follows and favourites! For TheBigCat, your prompt is on its way, but I wrote this in a rush last night and I thought I'd publish this in the meantime.

**Title:** Touches

**Rating:** K

**Words:** 321

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There are many kind of touches. The touch of a woman, the touch of a man. The hug of a friend, the hit of an enemy. The punch of a rival, the caress of a lover. The Doctor didn't like being touched. He had all sorts of reactions when people touched him. He jumped, he sighed, he felt annoyed, he felt dirty, he felt uneasy and generally speaking he felt wrong.

Maybe it was because this body longed for touch, but not just anyone's. Only hers. Only Clara's. Because when she touched him he still jumped, he still sighed, but at the same time his soul relaxed, even though his body stiffened. He leaned into her touch when he was sure he wouldn't be tempted to ask for more -when they were in danger, or in a hurry, or solving a mystery- and he gifted himself with these small moments of bliss.

Her touch was different. Her touch was warmer and gentler and softer. He loved it and yes, he loved her too. This body was born after 900 years during which he could never experience the touch of someone he loved, and most of all the touch of the only person that had been constant in his life. Clara. During those centuries he had been, for the first time in his life, truly and utterly alone. This body was born deprived, greedy, starving for touch. Clara's touch was the only one he could remember through centuries, the only one he that was carved deep into his skin and flesh in a way a thousand regenerations could not erase.

Sometimes, when you are very tired and very sad, exhausted and desperate and done with life, when you think you can't go on anymore, those times every touch feels like a slap in your face or a blade in your chest. Every touch but the one of that one person you love.


	3. Falling, Crying, Waking Up

**Prompt:** by TheBigCat; -Include this scene: _||"Clara." The tone in his voice stops her. "Clara. Look at me for a moment." He tilts her chin up with one icy finger, forcing her to gaze up. Something flickers in her eyes before a film of yellow slams down over the irises. She shudders abruptly, still looking at him as she crumples to the ground. Her eyes shut, and her body twitches.||_

**Title: **_Falling, Crying, Waking Up_

**Rating: **T (mild angst)

**Words: **1587

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The temptation of the TARDIS landing on a planet where he's never been before is irresistible for the Doctor. He immediately steps out of his ship, and Clara is close behind. His enthusiasm has the power to make her as thrilled as he is and she revels in the sound of his voice as he marvels at the beauty of the cave they enter.

It is a long tunnel with walls covered with violet crystals of so many shapes and dimensions that he loses count. He's lost staring at the ceiling of the cave, lost in the masterpiece that nature is able to produce, given the right minerals and light and temperature and eons of time. He could stay here all day, admiring, enjoying, theorizing. In this incarnation he has a new wonder for the universe, after 900 years stranded in the same place, he craves for new knowledge, new experience, new action and mystery. He's sick of war, of defending a trench doomed to fall.

The cold doesn't bother him and they spend long minutes walking in the icy, dark tunnels. It is only after more than one hour that he notices, as the cold gets more and more intense, that although he has been gazing in awe at the surroundings, speaking aloud all the while, Clara has barely answered with monosyllables. Of course, she isn't the kind of girl who is always talking, but he expects at least some questions. They always ask questions. And he likes it. He always notices when they do, and, hell, he has never noticed before that he misses it when they don't. The silence is becoming almost creepy, if he just stops talking for a minute. He can almost sense a presence, like a spine-chilling breath at the back of his neck, the hair at the nape of it raising…

"You can answer me, you know." he says, just to break the disturbing lack of sound. "It's not a monologue."

"Yes" she answers tonelessly from behind his back.

"Go on then!" he snaps after a moment of silence, still walking and observing the ceiling.

"When do we go back?"

He stops and turns towards her, a worried look on his face: she's never acted like this, so…indifferent.

"Are you okay?" he asks.

"Yes."

The Doctor gives her a proper look: she's pale and her arms are rigid at her sides, hands closed in tight fists. He realizes she must be freezing. Even his cool breath is coming out in small white puffs, now. He casually touches his hand, finding it cold.

"Aren't you cold?"

"No."

She's not meeting his gaze as she speaks, eyes fixed on the ground. He wonders why. He's sure that something is wrong.

"We'll go back, shall we?" he offers.

She turns her back at him without a single word and starts walking swiftly down the path they came from.

"Clara" he calls. She keeps walking, albeit more slowly. "_Clara._" The tone in his voice stops her. "Clara. Look at me for a moment."

He tilts her chin up with one icy finger, forcing her to gaze up. Something flickers in her eyes before a film of yellow slams down over the irises. She shudders abruptly, still looking at him as she crumples to the ground. Her eyes shut, and her body twitches.

"Oh, no, no, _no_."

He sinks on his knees and cradles her head and shoulders on his lap. "Clara. Clara. Stay with me. Look at me. Clara." He leaves encouraging pats on her cheeks in hopes to see her recover. He can see her eyes move rapidly beneath her eyelids and her breaths are shallow and laboured. The back of his hand brushes delicately her jawline and neck, finding her skin ice-cold and her pulse racing. He doesn't need the sonic screwdriver to understand what's happening. He takes her in his arms and runs.

~oOo~

'_Clara. I know you're still in there. Answer me. Clara.'_

Clara can hear the Doctor's voice as a distant, distant whisper. It feels like someone calling her to wake her, even though she doesn't remember going to bed. Actually, she remembers so little after entering that cave…

'_Clara!'_

The voice is louder this time and she decides to open her eyes to answer him, as well as to question him on why would he ever be in her bedroom…when all of a sudden she realizes she can't move.

'_Why can't I open my eyes?'_ she panics.

'_(Thank Rassilon, you're still with me.) Because something else has the control of your body now. (You'll be okay I promise)'_ says his voice, at first a whisper, then louder and finally a whisper again. As if he's been talking to himself at the beginning and at the end of the sentence.

'_Why can we talk then?'_

'_We can't. We're communicating through telepathy'_ he answers simply.

'_You're in my head!'_ she protests.

'_Just brushing your mind. I'm not peeking…(well, I'm doing my best, something will slip anyway. And it's tempting. What does she think of me?)'_

'_I can…(hear what you're thinking).'_ She notices now that her head hurts, and that the pain is increasing rapidly.

'_I know. I can't keep you out if I want to talk like this…and you're not used to it so, well, you are peeking.'_

'_I'm sorry.'_ The voice of her thoughts grows weaker and more high-pitched as the feel of a terrible headache turns into the feel of burning blades stabbing her brain.

'_Don't be. (what if she sees, what if she reads what you- no, no don't think of your feelings for her now.) Enough with this silliness, there's a mind parasite in your head, trying to take over your brain. It has already taken the body, you don't have much time.'_

'_It hurts'_ she cries out. _'Why does it hurt?'_ She wants to focus on what has just slipped from his mind, but the pain is the only thing she can think about now.

He can feel her fear in his mind as her mental scream reverberates in his brain, and his hearts speed up a bit.

'_Because it's trying to subjugate you.'_

'_Help me'_ she begs. She's inwardly crying now, and it breaks his hearts deep inside his chest.

'_I can't help you. It's your mind. I can't tell what you and what's not (as if I couldn't- no! What if you hurt her?) You have to do this alone.'_

'…_h-how?'_

The Doctor pushes her mind slightly deeper into hers, trying to not think about how intimate this contact is, trying to keep his mind as blank as he can because he knows that she can read the surface of his mind.

'_Can you feel me?'_ he asks, 'The difference between my mind and yours?'

'_Ye-yes.'_ At this point Clara is actually sobbing, hot tears rolling down her cheeks even though she is still unconscious in his arms.

'_That's what you must look for…an intrusion…(as if my touch was anything like that bloody parasite trying to invade your mind). Find it, push it away (I know you can).'_

'_I can't. I-I can't.'_ The pain is blinding, deafening. Her head feels like it's about to explode. She feels another presence, coming forward, awaiting, whispering to her, suggesting her to give up…and she might just do that, if the pain is going to stop…

'_Clara! No! Don't you dare! __Don't listen to it!'_ the Doctor screams, sensing her intentions.

'_Yesss, yesss, do give in to me humannn…the pain will stoppp…'_ the voice murmurs treacherously.

'_Clara! No!'_ The Doctor can hear the voice too now, and before he can realize it his mind is crashing over Clara's, pushing out the intruder. The girl gasps in his embrace as her eyes pop open and a light yellow film appears over them again, only to disintegrate in a billion golden particles a second later. The Doctor is ready, letting Clara's head fall back on her pillow, taking a small glass container from the depths of his pocket on sonicing the particles into it.

"I've got you!" he utters triumphantly as he stares at the small golden atoms bouncing furiously in their new prison.

"…Doctor…"

"It's alright now, Clara" he soothes, placing the container on the bedside table and sitting back on her bed beside her.

"Where am I?" she whispers, eyes still closed.

"Your bedroom, in the TARDIS. You should try to get some sleep now."

Her eyes open and search for his. "The pain is gone."

"I know." He takes the container and shakes it lightly, torturing its occupant. "Next time I will do a scan for alien life forms."

She chuckles weakly. "We both know you won't." After a long pause, she adds: "It wasn't your fault."

'_Oh yes, it was'_ he thinks. "Sleep, Clara."

Her eyes close again and she turns to lie on her side. The Doctor stays where he is, watching over her, and he waits until her breath becomes calm and regular. He gets up and gently tucks the blankets well over her shoulders. He leans over her and places a feather-light kiss on the side of her forehead.

"I'm sorry" he whispers before silently leaving the room.

The Doctor never knew that Clara had fallen asleep, but had woken up as soon as he had tucked her covers. She suddenly recalled one of the bits that had slipped from his mind:

'_What if she sees, what if she reads what you- no, no don't think of your feelings for her now.'_


	4. A Little Reminder

**A/N: **Took me a while, writing a jealous Twelve proved itself more difficult than I thought. Set after "The Caretaker". Mild spoilers for that episode.

**Prompt:** by magiclover222: could you possibly do a smutty chapter based on The Doctor being jealous over Clara's relationship with Danny?

**Tiltle:** _A Little Reminder_

**Rating:** M (for smut)

**Words:** 2489

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The Doctor was cross. Furious, actually. He had pretended to be okay with Danny, but inwardly he was livid. Good enough for her? That little, arrogant soldier boy? Not a chance. Clara deserved better, deserved extraordinary…but he had pretended. He had done that for Clara, because she had said- she had said she _loved him_. Not him _him_. Him Danny.

"_Why would you say that?"_

The Doctor could swear he had heard the sound of his hearts breaking when she had said the words. He hadn't thought it would hurt so much, not like this. Not like someone stabbing his chest open and ripping his hearts out of it. He hugged his ribs, silently staring at the bookshelf without really seeing it.

"Good morning" said Clara's voice from the lower level of the console room.

"If you believe it is…" he muttered.

"In a good mood, are we, uh?" She climbed the stairs and reached for him. "Listen, if it is still about Danny-"

"Of course it's about Danny!" he snapped, "If he thinks he's remotely-"

"Stop it. Stop it right now. You have no right to decide who's good enough for me, clear?"

"No. No, Clara. We are not clear. I think I get a vote. On this at least."

"Why would you?" she asked, startled. "You have absolutely no reason why you should be jealous when you… when you said you weren't my boyfriend in the first place!"

The Doctor stood silent for a moment, then slowly answered: "Which didn't mean that I…don't love you. I can't keep this on, Clara, it's killing me, the idea of sharing you with someone else just drives me insane." He took a step back, hands on the railing, and turned to face the console room. He never learned, no. The always broke his hearts, in the end.

"You- you love me?"

"I thought it resulted obvious. Turns out I hid it well."

He felt her hand touch his shoulder gently, which caused him to jump lightly and turn towards her. Her brown eyes were wide and expectant, and she briefly closed them as she stood on her tiptoes and tried to close the distance between them and kiss him. His body involuntarily inched forward, longing for her, but he pushed her back before their lips could touch. "I'm not willing to play your games, Clara. I still have a dignity. Lots of it. I want _all of you_. I'm selfish and old, and I want to be the only man in your life, in your heart. I won't have you when you say you are in love with another man." With two fingers, he tilted her chin up to look into her eyes. He wanted her to feel what he felt, want him like he wanted her, need him like he needed her. He wanted to be the only thing that mattered to her and the only one she had dear.

"I never said I was in love."

His hearts stopped. "But you-"

"I said I loved Danny. Which means he's dear to me and I didn't want you to mess up with his mind."

The Doctor swallowed hard and looked straight into her eyes, his mouth dry. "And do you love _me_? Are you _in love_ with me?"

She stared at him for a long moment that seemed an eternity to him. "I…yes. Yes" she breathed.

Clara had barely finished the sentence when he pressed her against the bookshelf with his mouth slammed over hers in a searing kiss, his tongue possessing hers, claiming her lips. Her fingers found his hair and pulled him close, fists gripping firmly his grey curls. He let himself go, utter abandon guiding his moves, months of suppressed longing almost blinding him as he savoured her taste, kissing her breathless while she moaned softly. Her gripped her outer thighs and Clara let him lift her, hooking her legs around his waist, urgently unbuttoning his shirt and pulling it out of his trousers as he rocked his hips against hers, his body starting to react to the intense desire that was burning his veins. One hand tangled in her hair holding her close, he pushed the other under the skirt of her dress, reaching for the hem of her knickers. She gasped in his mouth, out of breath, and he moved his attention to her jaw.

Clara laughed softly. "Seriously?" she wondered in a shallow breath, "Against a bookshelf. Not exactly romantic."

"I don't care" the Doctor hissed in a smile, kissing and nibbling down the column of her neck. Her scent was painfully enticing, it was making his blood boil and setting his nerves on fire.

"_I_ care." Simply with a move of her body she made him understand he had to put her down. Clara smiled up at him seductively, causing the increasing blush on his cheeks and neck to heat and redden considerably. "Show me your bedroom, Doctor."

"Yes, _boss_." He picked her up without a warning, ignoring the short, surprised cry she let out and grinning cheekily.

The Doctor enjoyed the feeling of her arms wrapped around his neck as he carried her, shivering as she started to play with the short, sensitive hair at the back of his head, tangling her small fingers in it and scratching lightly. He couldn't withhold a little whimper, her ministrations sending his eyes shut for a moment. He was dying to touch her, kiss her, make her his, just take her right there and then against the wall, or on the floor, whatever.

"You're a teaser, Clara" he growled as he finally kicked open the door of his bedroom. He laid her on his bed, too urgently to be defined gentle, briefly noting how the dark blue of his blankets underlined the creamy colour of her skin. The hem of her dress pulled up around her hips, exposing more flesh to his eager gaze as she boldly spread her legs for him.

He slowly climbed on top of her, pressing his lips against hers with quick, heated kisses and pushing his body between her thighs.

"You smell of chalk" she whispered in his ear as she buried her face in his hair, kissing the junction of neck and shoulder. He shuddered at the contact, finding that thanks to her position he had his nose in her long brown curls. He could smell her arousal, her desire, but suddenly he realized that over all that, she smelled of _him_. Not enough, so the Doctor was sure she hadn't slept with Soldier Boy, but still _way_ too much for his liking. He bit down hard and possessively on her shoulder, and Clara gasped in reply.

"You..." he started, leaving a gentler bite on her neck, "...are mine." He tossed his shirt on the floor along with his jacket, as he made sure to mark her body so thoroughly that she wouldn't be able to hide it with scarves or stoles. "Mine." Her hands ran over his muscular shoulders and traced the line of his spine, causing his back and hips to arch downwards.

"The only word I want to hear from you is my name" he breathed, nibbling her lower lip to emphasize his command. "Are we clear?"

"Yes."

"No, we clearly aren't." He immediately sank his teeth in her neck just beneath her ear.

"_Oh- Doctor!_"

"That's better" he grunted.

The Doctor kissed all the bruises he had left and pushed his hands under her dress, lifting it. Clara sat to help him taking it off, then pulled him close for a kiss, slipping her tongue in his mouth to caress his, but he wasn't having any of it: again he took the upper hand, groaning as he set a fast rhythm, tongues battling ferociously for dominance. Her hands flew to the button and zip of his trousers as she moaned in his mouth. Her fingers were deft and quick and his trousers and boxers pooled around his knees in a blink. He was about to take them off, but instead found himself cursing the boots he was still wearing. Clara barely suppressed a laugh and pushed against his chest, inviting him to lie on his back. He obliged and ended up staring at her gorgeous small figure straddling him, grinning down at him after getting rid of his boots and socks, taking in the sight of his body with impatient brown eyes darkened with lust.

"Oh, _Clara_."

The Doctor's breath got caught in his throat and his hearts sped up significantly. She was breath-taking, naked excluding her lacy bra and matching knickers. The intensity of his love and of his desire for her was crashing over him in long, powerful waves; the effects that this moment had on his nervous system were unspeakable. His hands grabbed her face and yanked her down, nothing gentle in his kiss, hard and rough and needy, teeth against teeth and teeth biting down on lips.

"_My_ Clara."

His fingers found the fabric of her bra, kneading at her breasts as her hands traced circles on his chest, brushing over his nipples, nails scratching, mapping his skin and burning him from the inside with a mixture of pleasure and pain that was addicting. Her hips rocked rhythmically towards him, teasing his erection, causing him to shudder and gasp with desire, arching his back and seeking more friction.

"Clara." he groaned against her skin. His whole body was begging for pleasure, for release. He flipped them over. The tension was almost was almost unbearable, but he couldn't bring himself to leave her soft, red lips, nor was Clara trying in any way to stop searching his mouth, her moans and his the only sounds in the room. He dropped one last bite on her lower lip before kissing his way down her body, feeling Clara shiver underneath as he nibbled casually here and there. Without further hesitation he dragged her legs over his shoulders, his arms pulling her closer as he inhaled the musky scent of her centre.

"Oh God."

Clara rocked her hips towards him, urging him to give her what she wanted. The Doctor smiled as he let his breath tease her opening, feeling air rapidly filling and leaving her lungs as she shivered in anticipation.

Finally he pushed one finger inside her, at the same time circling her clit with his tongue, immediately setting a fast, steady rhythm that had Clara moan and cry out his name as she grabbed his grey curls, her grasp so tight it hurt.

"Oh God, Doctor. Doctor. _Doctor_!"

He grinned savagely, her voice sending flames straight to the base of his spine. Adding a second finger inside her, with the other hand he started to stroke himself slowly, groaning against her heat as he did so, lapping unreservedly at her. Clara clumsily bit back a small scream and her hips bucked involuntarily toward his mouth. Delighted and shockingly aroused by her reaction, he doubled his efforts until Clara was pleading and calling his name with the sweetest little cries. He was getting so close himself…

"_Doctor._"

His hand left his manhood to support him as he went up to kiss her ardently. She moaned as their tongues intertwined and she tasted herself into his mouth. Not able to resist her and keep up the teasing much longer, the Doctor peppered wet kisses on her neck, sucking and nibbling, enjoying the way Clara's back arched craving for his touch. Deliberately slowly, he slid his fingers out of her, her breath shallow as she gasped at the loss. He brought his hand to his mouth, eyes locked with Clara's, and carefully sucked his fingers up to the knuckles, fully aware of how her eyes widened as he exaggerated a low moan of appreciation.

"Doctor!" she protested.

"You have my permission to say something else too" he growled against her hear, his voice so husky and dripping with hunger he barely recognised it. "Let it be something right."

"You _bloody_ teaser" she hissed between light kisses along his cleavage.

"Wrong answer" he stated as he bit her earlobe, causing her fingernails to dig into his shoulders.

The Doctor felt her legs wrap tightly around his waist and pull him down as she rocked her hips upwards. He entered her slowly, the sensation sending his eyes shut and his face buried into her neck, grunting throatily as he filled her up, hipbones touching, hearing her gasp of pleasure and feeling her breath rate increase rapidly. Clara felt absolutely amazing, hot and tight and _gods_ so wet for him. He revelled in the thrilling, overwhelming feeling of electricity washing his nerves and his spine, starting a fast, urgent rhythm, erratic and needy, both of them gasping as their hips rocked in synch, meeting each other's movements.

He was desperate to reach his own climax, but most of all he wanted to see her break. He wanted her to scream _his_ name, to experience an intense and incomparable ecstasy only thanks to _him_. He left a line of small bites along her neck as her cries became lower, coming from deep in her throat, her grip on his shoulders excruciatingly strong. He forced his eyes open to look at her, her hair a mess, a thin sheet of sweat covering her flushed skin, hot at the touch, her eyes closed and eyelids fluttering, her mouth slightly open and her head thrown back against the pillow. He could tell she was so close already, her walls contracting rhythmically around him and her legs trembling against his waist. The Doctor gasped at the sudden grasp of her inner muscles, his hands on each side of her supporting him. He felt himself fall over the edge while Clara whimpered and shuddered beneath him, his nerves on fire when he finally saw the proverbial stars, flashes of light exploding underneath his eyelids as he spilled himself into her.

For some minutes -or some hours, the Doctor couldn't tell- they laid in each other's arms, hearts pounding furiously, out of breath, and the Doctor was only conscious of her heat around him and of the hot river of sensations in his veins. Clara shifted slightly beneath him and placed a small kiss on his pulse point, pulling him back to reality. Carefully, he slid out of her and rolled on his side. Before he could realize it, Clara was snuggled against him, her arms wrapped around his chest and one leg draped over him. He hummed in approval and firmly drew her closer, possessively.

"My Clara. I love you" he murmured.

"I love you too" she whispered in reply. "And you…I was always yours, you don't need too…_mark_ me like that to let me know," she giggled.

He covered the two of them with a blanket and shifted to a more comfortable position, staring at her eyes. "I'm sure that Danny won't mind a little reminder."


	5. Hardioran Syndrome

**A/N:** Took me a super long time, and I sincerely apologise. University decided to suddenly get a lot harder, sucking all my time in studying and leaving me too tired to write. Here is the new chapter though, set after Flatline, I hope you enjoy it :)

**Prompt**: by cclarasdoctor: Could you do a fluffy one where 12 gets sick and Clara looks after him for a while, then she catches it and the tables are turned?

**Tiltle:** _Hardioran Syndrome_

**Rating:** T (general fluffiness)

**Words:** 3486

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"You're so pale. Why are you pale?" Clara questioned, following the Doctor around the console.

"Don't be silly, Clara, I'm not pale, there's nothing wrong with me" he answered, moving between controls.

"Oh yes, there is. Are you ill, Doctor?" He turned to face her.

"Don't be ridiculous! Time Lord, me, I wouldn't just" -he blinked, as if his eyes were blurred and he was trying to clear them- "just catch a cold."

She scanned him with the expert eyes of someone who had seen countless ill kids. He was paler than usual and his eyes were suspiciously bright. As they stared at each other, he sniffed, something he basically never did, and Clara didn't miss the light trembling of his hands.

"Doctor…will you come closer for a moment?" she asked with the softest of voices.

"W-what do you want?" he stepped back, circling the console, left hand on it, trying to preserve his precious personal space.

"There's something in your hair" she stated with the same silky voice, following him around the console. "Let me brush it off, will you?"

He nervously ran one hand through his grey curls, still walking away from his companion. "There's nothing." He retreated to the stairs, towards the upper gallery, always facing Clara, struggling to put more distance between them, but she was having none of it. "I should have kept that broom!" he muttered.

"Doctor, come on, I just want to check if you have fever, okay?"

"I'm not sick! Are _you_ sick? I'm a Doctor, I should know-"

"We both know you are not that kind of Doctor." Finally she had him pinned against the back of his armchair, but when she stood on her tiptoes to touch his forehead she noticed his intense stare and the way she had her body completely pressed over his. For a minute, neither of them breathed as a strong blush crept on her cheeks and she stepped away from him. He took advantage of it to slip away, circling the armchair, but Clara rapidly regained her composure and blocked him, pushing him to sit down in his armchair.

"_You stay here_" she commanded.

"Control freak."

"Shut up!" Clara dove her hand in his jacket pocket –he jumped at the contact- and took his screwdriver, handing it to him. "Look, check it yourself, okay? I'm just-" she hesitated. "…worried for you, that's all."

He rolled his eyes, but his expression had softened. He set the sonic, and pointed it towards himself. "See? Nothing to worry about." Only then he looked at the results, and his face didn't reassure Clara at all. "Oh. Right. I seem to be…a little…your fault of course, all that running around to check my temperature…"

"Doctor. Give me the screwdriver. At once."

"N-no" he babbled, sinking in the armchair and hiding the sonic behind him.

Clara wasted no time and pressed her palm flat on his forehead. He trembled under her touch and gasped. "God, you're warm. Really warm. You shouldn't be this warm" she murmured, alarmed. The Doctor had a lower body temperature compared to humans, and his skin usually felt so cool against hers.

"It's nothing…" he protested weakly.

"You have fever! Now do me a favour and go to bed, okay?"

"No, I'll…I'll just take a nap here."

"Absolutely no, Doctor. Get up and off to bed, now."

"Can't."

"Of course you can-"

"No, Clara. I can't as I think I might…" his words trailed off as his head reclined on his shoulder.

"Doctor? Doctor!" Clara called. She caressed his cheek and ran her hand though his soft hair. He was still very warm at the touch and his breath was shallow, his eyes were closed but his body wasn't relaxed, on the contrary, he was rigid and tensed as if he was uncomfortable in his own skin.

He awoke in a matter of seconds, eyes popping open, and Clara swiftly withdrew her hand.

"What-"

"You passed out" she said, preventing his question.

"Ah." He glanced away, his embarrassment evident.

"Do you think you can stand?" she asked. He nodded slowly and she helped him to his feet. "Any idea what it is?"

"Hardioran Syndrome" he answered, "Not…life-threatening," he added quickly, "just highly…debilitating." Thankfully, the TARDIS moved his bedroom closer to the control room, so that Clara didn't have to support him for long. "I'll be unconscious most of the time, but you need to wake me and make me drink. Keep me warm…" he continued as Clara helped him to get rid of his jacket and shoes and tucked him in bed. "There's a small blue bottle in the TARDIS sickbay… third or fourth cupboard to the left I think…give me two drops of that every…four hours."

"Okay. Doctor, are you sure you'll be okay?"

"Yes, yes, don't be silly Clara. It will sort itself in 30 hours or so. Oh, and, Clara, remember, this is very… important…"

Clara couldn't hear what was so important to remember, because the Doctor's eyes drifted close again and he laid motionless under the covers, head on his pillow.

"Oh, you silly Time Lord. This is what happens when you just don't admit you're not feeling well."

She stared at his sleeping form, kneeling near his bed and distractedly caressing his hair, something he'd never allow if awake, but she kept doing it, stroking the curls and pushing them flat against his skull. Clara liked the way his hair felt so soft beneath her fingertips, loving it a guilty way, knowing that he didn't like to be touched.

His breath was still very laboured, but it steadied and relaxed under her ministrations. She wondered if, deep down, after all, he liked it. A bit uncomfortable on the floor, even though a thick carpet covered it, Clara got up and glanced around at the room. She had never seen his bedroom before, and she had to admit he had the most elegant and sophisticated taste, just like in clothes. A leather armchair similar, if not identical, to the one in the control room was also there: Clara dragged it close to the bed to sit later, and left the room to fetch some water and the medicament he had described.

~oOo~ [hour 1]

"Come on, take some." Clara said, offering the Doctor a glass of water while helping him to sit.

He started to drink eagerly, then winced. "It's rubbish," he murmured, eyes dreamy. Clara could tell he was only barely conscious. "What did you put in it?"

"That blue stuff you told me to give you, you big child. Drink all, okay?"

"I'm not ten years old" he muttered groggily, and Clara made him drink, his hands being too shaky to hold the glass steadily.

"Oh, really? That's new" she giggled. He shot her a dirty look.

The girl put the glass back on the bedside table and let the Doctor sank under the sheets again. He moved to lay flat on his stomach, face buried in the pillow.

"Are you still awake?" Clara asked. A small grunt was all the answer she obtained. "You said I needed to remember something, something important."

"There are so-" he made a noise that sounded pretty much like snoring. "-many important things I'd want to tell you." His voice came low and muffled, and a second later he was most definitely snoring soundly.

Clara sighed, rolling her eyes. It was a lost cause. She wondered what kind of 'many important things' he'd tell her, but she resolved that he wasn't in his right mind and probably he didn't mean what he said.

~oOo~ [hour 7]

"Clara…_Clara_…"

Clara awoke with a start. She hadn't even realized she had fallen asleep. Not willing to leave the Doctor alone when he could need her, and since she had to give him water and his medicine, she had decided to stay awake, but she had clearly failed.

"I'm- I'm here."

"Clara…" he whispered.

She realized he was just talking in his sleep, and smiled. Was he dreaming of her? She bit her lip, wondering what he would dream about her so intense to make him talk in his slumber. The book she had been reading to keep awake fell from her lap as she moved to lean over him, kissing his forehead. Apparently he still had high fever, she supposed it had to be the medicine still working its magic…then the thought hit her: she had just kissed him as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Two of her fingers went to her lips, finding them burning hot and sensitive; she licked them nervously, tasting the salty taste of his sweat. She shivered, trying not to think of how intimate that was.

"Clara." The Doctor's voice came again, sleepy and muffled against the pillow. "Please…no…don't go."

"I'm here, Doctor" she repeated.

He started to move relentlessly in bed, his hands tugging at the sheets and tossing it, searching for something. Instinctively, Clara held out her hand to him, and the Doctor grabbed it tightly. She squeezed back, and he calmed down almost immediately.

"Clara… I've… got you."

~oOo~ [hour 21]

"So? How is it?" Clara questioned expectantly as she helped the Doctor to take a spoon full of soup to his mouth. She was glad to feel his hands finally somewhat cool against hers.

"Edible" he muttered, eyes half-closed. He appeared very weak still, as if the simple act of being awake and sitting with his back against the headboard was too tiring for him.

"Oh, why can't you just say it? I did well! I didn't burn it or anything."

"Even _you _couldn't possibly burn _soup_," he grumbled between gulps. Clara slapped his shoulder playfully as he finished eating silently. As she place the plate back on the bedside table, the Doctor tucked himself under the covers again.

"Feeling any better?"

He answered with a small grunt choked against pillow and remained silent for a long moment. When Clara thought he had fallen asleep once more, he murmured:

"It didn't taste that bad."

Clara laughed. "You must be really ill."

He snored loudly and his eyes were close, but she was 99% sure that he was still wide awake.

~oOo~ [hour 28]

Clara had only left the Doctor for a moment to fill the pitcher with water, and when she came back she noticed he had moved in his sleep, pushing the covers down to his hips. Knowing she had to keep him warm, she sat near him and pulled the bed sheets up to his shoulders again, observing him: he had practically regained his usual skin colour, and his breath was pleasantly regular. She caressed his cheeks absentmindedly, running her fingertips on the very light stubble he had grown. Clara laughed: so even Time Lords needed to shave every day. The thought hit her mind that he looked incredibly attractive like that. She felt her cheeks heat considerably as she shook away that thought: she couldn't indulge in her feelings for him, it only made them stronger. Which was pointless, considered his stark remark that he wasn't her boyfriend. Her cheeks were burning and suddenly her mind was starting to feel so foggy. Did he have that effect on her? She probably was just tired.

She couldn't stop her hand from continuing to touch him, because it was almost involuntary, and when the Doctor awoke under her touch, Clara hurriedly withdrew her hand. For the first time in the last hours, he looked properly conscious and awake. He sat without any help, and Clara moved off his bed; he rubbed his eyes sleepily, then turned to face her.

"Clara. You- Wait a minute," he exclaimed, looking horrified, "why aren't you wearing gloves?" She could only look back at him without a clue of what he was talking about. "Clara, _it spreads through touch_! I am completely sure I've warned you!"

"What the hell are you talking about?"

She distinctively heard her voice trail off as she spoke, her eyes blurring for a moment…then the world turned around her and the floor seemed so close all of a sudden…

~oOo~ [hour 1]

The Doctor blessed his Time Lord reflexes as he swiftly grabbed Clara's waist and effortlessly pulled her on the bed before she could fall. He shuddered as he felt the gentle weight of her back on his legs. A warm wave washed his body as he became aware of his palms on her and remembered her hands stroking his face a minute earlier. The sensation of her skin on his still lingered, like a burn, and he instinctively pressed one palm on his cheek, cherishing the feeling and filing it in the recesses of his mind. The same hand tentatively brushed Clara's forehead.

"Oh, Clara, Clara. What have you done? You're burning." He didn't bother with gloves, he knew that the syndrome could only be caught once in life. For this body at least, he should be fine.

The Doctor sighed in resignation, gently taking off her shoes and tucking her in his bed. Her chest rose and fell heavily beneath the sheets, her breath irregular. He pushed her hair back behind her ears, feeling a bit guilty that she was in that state because of him…the vision of her in his bed sent another shiver down his spine though, and a small smile curved his lips. He sensed a very vivid day-dream slamming down the doors of his mind, and he pinched himself to regain some composure.

The Doctor left Clara briefly, to shower and shave and to change his sweated clothes. He realized perfectly that he was still recovering and he still felt physically exhausted, so he would _unfortunately_ have to share his bed with Clara. He put on his pyjama, but in place of his usual trousers -he didn't need many layers at night, he hardly ever felt cold and it was more comfortable that way- he took care of wearing underwear, under t-shirt and a long-sleeved shirt. He had some control on his sleep, so he would be able to wake often and take care of Clara, but he needed some rest. Of course he could move her to her bedroom, but then it would be much more tiring and uneasy for him to watch her.

~oOo~ [hour 2]

Every time he watched her sleep -which happened often, even though Clara didn't know it- the Doctor felt the urge of kissing her awake. Obviously, he always resisted. He couldn't show her his hearts, because after all he wanted the best for her. It cost him so much to admit it, but she was so much better off with Danny. He was poison to her, he knew that: he had gained proof of it that day with the Boneless; he made her like him. And Clara, bless her, couldn't see -or was determined not to see- the darkness that sneakily enveloped him in this incarnation. Besides, she didn't love him. Not in _that _way, at least.

He woke her with a pair of light pats on her arm and a muttered "Come on, Sleepy-head." Clara let out a sleepy sound and turned to the side, burying her face in the pillow. The Doctor sighed and lifted her head, moved the pillow against the headboard and pulled her up, pressing her back against it. "Time for your medicine, Clara. Doctor's orders." She didn't open her eyes but he could tell she was awake -sort of.

She brought the glass of water to her lips and drank hesitantly. "It's not as bad as you told me-"

"Because this is the children version. Cherry-flavoured."

"Why didn't you-" she questioned sleepily between sips.

"I don't like cherries. But I know you do."

"Thank you," she whispered, opening her eyes for a moment.

"Shut up and off to sleep, you need rest," he cut short, putting the glass back on the bedside table.

He adjusted her pillow on the mattress again and gently helped her to lay down.

"Doctor?" she murmured.

"Yes?"

"Will you…stay?"

"Don't worry."

The Doctor waited for her to fall asleep, the climbed on the empty side of the bed, laying over the covers and close to the edge of the mattress, as far as he could from Clara. He tried to lay facing the wall, or the ceiling, trying to convince himself that he was alone in bed; but he could feel the warmth her body emanated, the laboured breaths she took and the small movements she made in her sleep. Finally, he resigned himself to look at her. Just this once, maybe he could get to fall asleep with Clara at his side. He couldn't resist stretching an arm and running his fingers in her hair, pushing a stray lock behind her ear. He brought the same fingers to his face and inhaled deeply, taking in the scent of her. His eyes drifted close and sleep enveloped him like a warm blanket as he imagined holding her gently as she slept.

~oOo~ [hour 5]

The Doctor opened his eyes slowly, only to close them again in a second as he realized what he was doing. He bit down on his lower lip, cursing himself and this body so weak for Clara. In his sleep, he had unconsciously moved closer to her, protectively wrapping one arm around her, his hand holding hers tightly, fingers intertwined, and burying his face in the back of her neck. He should have known that their bodies were like positively charged and negatively charged atoms, with no hope of escaping their mutual attraction. He did know that. He had just wanted to pretend he was strong enough to resist her, and he had failed miserably.

It was hard to admit, but he had never slept so well in centuries. No nightmares, no waking up after mere minutes of sleep, covered in sweat and hearts pounding wildly in his chest. The simple presence of Clara made him feel at peace with the universe and with himself. However, he couldn't ignore the maddening desire her proximity was lighting up in him, the need to slip his hands under the sheets and under her dress, craving for skin-to-skin contact, the urge to kiss her exposed shoulder that was so close to his lips right now…regrettably, he shook those thoughts away and tried to get up without waking her.

~oOo~ [hour 16]

"Didn't know you could still cook." Clara whispered shakily, taking a sip of soup.

"Of course I can. I am an excellent cook" the Doctor remarked.

"Sure, sure…" she paused for a moment, concentrating on her meal as the Doctor held her shaking hand firmly to help her. "It's very good, Doctor."

"I know."

"Show-off."

"Shut up." He'll never tell her that he doesn't have the patience to cook in this life, and that he had the TARDIS prepare it for him, but he's just content with making her happy.

"Any better?" he asked when she finished.

"I'm tired."

"It's okay. You still have fever. Sleep now." He touched her forehead and she fell asleep in a blink. He smiled. "Carer skills" he muttered.

~oOo~

Many hours later, the Doctor was in the console room, waiting for Clara. He turned to face her as she walked down the stairs.

"Hello."

"Thank you for taking care of me, Doctor."

"You did the same, I was only paying you back."

"Thank you anyway." She smiled.

He smiled back. "Where to now?"

"Home. Please."

His smile faded, but he nodded slowly and started the engines. The TARDIS landed with a loud *tud* and the Doctor opened the doors with a snap of his fingers. "Home it is, Miss Oswald."

"There is something I wanted to give you before I go" she stated, smiling cheekily.

"I- What is it?"

"Do you trust me, Doctor?"

"Yes," he answered, almost too quickly, "but-"

"No buts. Close you eyes."

"Clara…"

"I said. _Close. Your. Eyes_."

He obliged silently, and for some reason his hearts started to drum wildly against his ribcage. He didn't know what he was expecting, but he felt Clara stepping closer to him and gently grab his arm. He shivered, but he stayed still, not opening his eyes.

"C-Clara? What are you-"

"Shhh." The Doctor felt her other hand press against his chest and his body stiffened. Then, suddenly, he felt Clara's body pressed against his side and her lips leaving a soft but firm kiss on his right cheek. He sucked in a breath and his eyes popped open, searching for Clara's. "Thank you, Doctor."

With that she was closing the TARDIS doors in the space of three small steps, leaving him standing there with his hand on his cheek, smiling like an idiot, releasing a breath he hadn't realized he was holding and thinking that maybe, just _maybe_, they should get sick more often.


	6. Of Dreams and Sleepless Nights

**A/N:** Inspired by the song "Like I Can" by Sam Smith. Better if you listen to the song before reading. Set some time after Flatline. Enjoy :)

**Prompt:** by vintage1983: I think Sam Smith's 'Like I Can' would make a nice prompt (Not a song fic. Piece based on the song)

**Title:** Of Dreams and Sleepless Nights

**Rating:** K

**Words:** 432

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The Doctor pushed the door open ever-so-slightly, leaning against the doorframe and glancing at Clara's sleeping form in the dark room, his eyes easily piercing through the darkness. He knew he shouldn't be there, watching her sleep, especially not there in her own house, but he couldn't help it. Her declaration of love to P.E. earlier that day had shook him more deeply than he cared to admit. Things like that always did. Kept him sleepless, even. He didn't know why, if it was because he had expected her to keep mourning over the "death" of his previous self forever or if he was just jealous. It didn't matter. No matter who she chose, no other man would ever be able to love her like he could.

Silently, he entered the room, just to see her serene face as she slept. Somehow it softened the raw emotions swirling in his hearts. Rationally, he was aware that P.E. was the best choice for Clara. A man of her age. A safe choice. Not dangerous, not dark, not selfish. Not like him. The boy also seemed to care about her, he had to admit. Rationally, on the surface, he knew all that.

He took some other small steps and knelt near her bed, unable to resist the temptation to stroke her hair gently. Emotionally, deep in his hearts, he didn't understand how she could choose P.E. over him. Not when he loved her this way, sweet and loving and caring but at the same time overwhelming and burning and possessive. Like no one else ever could. Nothing could compare to being born owing her everything and starving for the need to repay that debt.

Clara moved lightly in her sleep. The Doctor pressed the tip of his finger against her forehead, purposefully, intentionally, giving her a dream where she ran away with his previous self and everything was happier and easier. Bow Tie hadn't loved her like she deserved, though, and hadn't known her like the present version of him did. His past self hadn't known her demons, hadn't seen her becoming so much like him, just like P.E. didn't know and didn't see now. He, the Doctor, this Doctor, was the only one who knew everything about Clara, knew everything and loved it all, no matter what. The realization of how similar they were might have stunned him at first, but it had changed nothing between them. He cared for her too much to let anything separate them. No one else could care for her like he did. Love her like he did.


	7. Egomaniac, Control Freak, Game Player

**Prompt:** by AngelHaggis13: Could you write a smutty chapter with a dominant!Clara?

**Title:** _Egomaniac, Control Freak, Game Player._

**Rating:** M (for smut)

**Words:** 2818

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Clara stepped out of the TARDIS and into her bedroom, turning back a second after. "Doctor, are you sure you are okay?" Clara asked, looking into his pale blue eyes as he leaned out of the TARDIS doors.

"Yes, yes I am. Okay," he stammered. He avoided her gaze and looked down. Clara hated to see him like that, it made her heart clench somehow.

"Come here," she requested.

"Why?"

"I said. Come. Here." He obliged and stepped close to her, looking down at her, finally meeting her eyes, staring at her as if to scan her in search of some damage. "What happened today, it wasn't your fault." He had been unusually silent during the short ride back to her time, back to her flat, but she knew what he was hiding: they had visited this planet, and it should have been a completely safe one according to him, but she had ended up being kidnapped and imprisoned.

"Yes, it was. If I..."

"If you what? Listen, there's nothing you could have done to avoid that, okay?"

"At least I could have saved you." Right. Unfortunately, he had been lying unconscious on the ground, in the forest, and she had simply had to escape by herself.

"I don't need to be saved. You don't need to save me. Saving you, that's my job."

"Rubbish." He inched closer and his hand found her cheek, which surprised both of them. "Stop saying that...Clara…I could have…lost you," he uttered, barely a whisper. Clara could see his eyes bright, utter terror still clenching his heart even though he had tried to hide it.

His stare was intense and the contact of his palm on her face was making her skin electric. "You didn't. I'm right here," she stated. She briefly wondered how their faces seemed to grow closer every second, how had it happened that she could feel his breath on her skin and their noses were almost touching.

"_Clara_," he murmured, urgency in his voice.

Then, in a blink, his lips where on hers and her brain went shockingly blank. She gasped under the gentle pressure of his mouth and instinctively pushed back, her eyes falling shut as she sneaked an arm around the Doctor's neck, her fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer. His hands found her waist, tugging at the fabric of her dress, pressing his body against hers as he slipped his tongue in her welcoming mouth. She noted briefly how his hair was soft, his lips were cool and he tasted of whiskey and smelled of chalk, but mainly her brain wasn't working. Total, absolute void. She only knew that it was perfect, and addicting, and she was moaning into his mouth and she never wanted to stop. She also knew that at some point, after what seemed like long hours and mere seconds at the same time, she was gasping for air and pulled back abruptly.

"Sorry. Sorry sorry sorry. I should never have done that," the Doctor murmured hurriedly.

They stared at each other for a long moment, in which her brain tried to process what had just happened. The Doctor. Kissing her. She couldn't not notice the look in his eyes as he apologised: one of longing and lust and desire and…fear. He feared _rejection_, feared that he had _ruined_ everything they shared.

Clara didn't know why, of all things, she couldn't choose between life on Earth and life on the TARDIS, maybe it was self-defence, thinking he would never be what she needed him to be, that he didn't want to give her all of himself. She had been wrong all along. He had made it impossible for her to understand what he wanted. Suddenly, beside all the love and longing for this man she had torn herself apart for, she felt _so_ angry.

"You...are an idiot."

"I know."

"No, no. _You don't_" she exclaimed angrily. "I...you…_wanted_ that. And everything I can think of is: _why_ didn't you tell me before, _why_ acting up like an idiot and putting all that I'm-not-your-boyfriend show on? _You. Are. An. Idiot_!"

She slapped him across the face. Hard. He brought his hand to his reddening cheek, his look somewhere between amazed and scandalized. One moment later, she was yanking him down by the lapels of his jacket, kissing him, slamming her lips against his. Her tongue pushed its way into his mouth without hesitation, and in a moment he was reciprocating every bit of her enthusiasm, each of them daring the other to kiss harder, bite down on lips, grab hair and tug at clothes until Clara was stepping back towards her bed, dragging the Doctor with her.

As her legs hit the mattress, she pulled him on top of her, struggling to free him of his jacket, which ended up on the floor in a matter of seconds. Swiftly, she broke the kiss and flipped them over.

"Clara. What are we doing?" he asked, somewhere between scared and genuinely oblivious.

She grinned down at him, his hair a mess, eyes dark and face flush. "You…" she pressed her hips against his and ran her hands down his arms, pressing them at the sides of his head, resting her palms over his and intertwining their fingers. "…are going to apologize for being such an idiot. You get that?" He nodded slowly, and Clara didn't miss the way his pupils dilated and his pulse raced beneath her palms.

"I am sorry."

"Not the kind of apology I meant."

"What kind of apology did you mean?"

"Don't you know?" She asked, arching an eyebrow. He remained silent. "You are imagining, though."

"Yes," he whispered hesitantly.

"What are you imagining?" she asked mischievously.

"Many things."

Her fingers trailed down to the hem of his jumper, very slowly, intentionally so, lifting it and the shirt underneath just a little. She felt his abdominals contract as he held his breath. Eyes locked with his, she slipped her hands beneath the fabric and he helped her to take the garments off, throwing them to the side. She pushed him down on the mattress again and ran her palms over his thin chest, exploring the soft skin, brushing his nipples ever-so-gently, tracing the lines of his cleavage, of his strong shoulders and arms, feeling his skin warmer than usual. His eyes drifted closed and he shuddered lightly under her touch.

"Is this any close?" she asked.

"No. No, it isn't" he murmured. Her hands stopped mid-movement and she searched for his gaze. He opened his eyes in a warm, reassuring look. He slowly snaked a hand between them, taking hers and bringing it up to caress his neck and cheek. "Nothing I might have dared to fantasize about could ever come close to this." He guided her hand further up and kissed her fingertips so very softly. "_Clara._" Sometimes he simply said her name but it meant the world to just the two of them.

"Doctor," Clara whispered, bending down to kiss him. Gentle at first, hot full lips meeting cool, thinner ones, then more passionately, a small bite on his lip enough to make him sigh and open his mouth to her, his hips rocking upwards into hers enough to make them both gasp with need. When she found the strength to finally leave his lips, she threw her dress behind her back, not caring where it landed, drinking avidly the Doctor's intense, longing stare as he mapped her body, fully exposed if it weren't for her bra and knickers.

"_OhgodsClara_. You are…so beautiful," he whispered, the tone of reverence in his voice making a subtle warm wave run up her spine. "Clara- I- I love you. Clara. I… want you," he uttered huskily, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

"Say that again," she ordered back, feeling her own cheeks burning hot, his words exciting her more than the sight of his body beneath hers.

"_Clara_," he said simply. She wondered how many other times he had declared his love for her just like this, without the actual words.

"I love you too," she conceded.

She kissed down his neck, where lean muscles turned into soft and sensitive skin and his age showed. Oh, the times she had wanted to kiss him there, nibbling at the tender flesh, feeling his blood rushing in his veins just like she did now, his eyes shut and his body rocking instinctively against hers as his hands roamed over her back. His touch was light and gentle as he unhooked her bra and tossed it aside, fingertips barely brushing her skin, worshipping her with a silent kind of wonder that made her nerves tingle. She moaned quietly as he started to massage her breasts with those graceful, beautiful fingers of his, tormenting her hardened nipples, causing her to sigh softly. The Doctor affected her so deeply, he would have her break in mere moments, the idea of giving up control just for this night _so_ tempting. But Clara didn't want that. She wanted to take this with her own pace, take him in her own way.

She shifted his hands to his sides, down on the bed, and her mouth rapidly trailed lower, placing quick open-mouthed kisses on his chest and stomach. His hips bucked when she reached the waistband of his trousers and she smiled, purposely running two fingers along the visible bulge between his legs, feeling steel underneath, his back arching off the mattress, yearning for her touch as he let out a small moan, needy and throaty and low.

"Clara."

"Shhh." Clara soothed, carefully unbuttoning and unzipping his trousers, lowering them just enough for her to lower his boxers too and finally take him in hand. She couldn't help a grin at the sight of him – regeneration had been oh so generous in that matter. She stroked him once, gently, experimentally, placing a feather-light kiss on the tip. The Doctor gasped and his body trembled violently, his right hand tangling in her hair, his shoulders lifting from the bed. Smirking, Clara pushed him back.

"Down, boy," she commanded, smiling playfully. It was addicting to have the Doctor, almighty Time Lord, so needy, so overcome, just for her, but she wanted more. She wanted control, needed him to let her know he belonged to her. Maybe he was right, egomaniac and control freak she was. Game player too. "Put your hands behind your back." He looked at her with a hint of curiosity, silently accepting her game, and obliged, lacing his arms behind his muscular back and grabbing with each hand the wrist of the other. He let his head fall back on the pillow and exhaled a long, shuddering breath.

Clara returned to her previous task, kissing her way up his thigh and giving a slow, long lick to his length, swirling her tongue around the tip as his hips arched upwards and he took several sharp intakes of breath. Clara could feel his every muscle go rigid and tense. She took him in her mouth, deliberately slowly, then slid her lips back up and repeated the movement, starting a faster pace that had low, loud appreciative hums come from deep in the Doctor's chest and his body thrust up to match her rhythm. She kept holding his hips down on the mattress, not willing to let him set the tempo.

Clara would have smiled if her lips weren't otherwise busy. She felt so powerful, in charge of his pleasure, of his release, being allowed to touch him freely where he was most vulnerable. It was so intimate, the way she could feel his every reaction, every trembling of his body as she cupped his balls to add to the ministrations of her tongue and mouth and pleasured him with small and careful movements of her fingertips, making the Doctor let out a loud groan that sounded a lot like her name. A powerful surge of electricity ran down her spine and she shuddered lightly.

"_Clara_," he repeated. "Clara, I'm- _please I don't want to come yet_," he breathed quickly, words barely distinguishable from one another.

Clara lifted her head to look up at him, finding his face and neck reddened with arousal and a thin veil of sweat covering his body as he breathed heavily, trying to regain some resemblance of composure. She ran her hand up and down his shaft a pair of times, watching his head drop back and push forcefully against the pillow, his teeth biting his lower lip and hips thrusting upwards once more. "What do you want, then?" she teased.

He gazed at her and she could no longer see the blue in his eyes, only grey and black. So much black. "You. I want you," he said firmly, his voice low enough to make her tremble with excitement and desire and he knees turn to jelly. Sometimes Clara was convinced that his voice had some sort of power on her.

"Say please," she managed to say, struggling to regain control.

"_Please_," he asked, voice softer and gentler this time, begging for permission.

"I love you," she said, staring into his eyes, her words almost an apology for teasing him for so long.

"I know," the Doctor answered, smiling this shy smile.

Clara made quick work of his shoes and their remaining clothes, then went back to straddling him, taking him in her small hand and lowering herself on him. She gasped and her head lolled back, eyes shut, as she felt him fill her completely, warm and hard, stretching her just the right way, spreading heat and shivers through her body as she heard the Doctor hiss a small sound, his body giving an involuntary thrust into her, hard and firmly, making her moan and her eyes pop open.

"Oh God. Doctor."

"Clara. Clara Clara Clara _Clara_."

He chanted her name like a prayer, and his hands searched for her body to get hold of her hips. Clara intertwined their fingers instead, pushing the back of his hands on the mattress and using them for leverage as she started to move. If she hadn't known better, she would have thought that her body hadn't been designed for a pleasure so heartstoppingly intense, head swimming, nerves on fire, skin burning and muscles trembling. Not that she was able to think, anyway. She could only feel, feel the Doctor inside her, the warmth of his body, the almost painful grip of his hands in hers. As if from a great distance, she could hear her own cries of pleasure mixed with the Doctor's as his hips matched the rhythm she set, building their release together, her heart pounding and her breath shallow as tension coiled in her abdomen.

They had been denying themselves this, them, for so long. Too long. Clara couldn't tell how long it lasted, but probably it would always be over too soon. She no longer knew if she was thrusting down on him or he was pushing up into her, lifting her weight with ease, or if it was both, but she felt the knot of tension in her belly tighten suddenly before breaking, sending a burning river of electricity through every inch of her body, so mindblowing that she would have forgotten her name if the Doctor weren't calling it over and over as her muscles clenched around him and he climaxed right after her, his seed filling her and adding to the overload of sensations.

Clara let her body rest on top of his, feeling as if every part of her was melting in a puddle of warm comfort, neither of them breaking the silence with something different from their exhausted breaths against each other's skin, her fingers disentangling from his only for their palms to meet. Eyes closed, Clara listened to the beat of his hearts, still wild beneath her singles heartbeat, she could feel his blood rush in the veins of his wrists underneath hers. The Doctor pressed a soft kiss on her neck and shifted slightly under her, pulling out of her and making a move to gently roll her off him, but she kept him still.

"Stop. Don't move."

"You can't sleep on me, Clara," he protested weakly.

"Says who?" she provoked.

"Common sense," he murmured, but he stayed still, moving his arms to hold her close, embracing her tenderly. She pressed a kiss to his lips. "I love you," he whispered, brushing his forehead against hers. Somehow it was so intimate and almost…domestic for him to do this, so ordinary, she felt uncomfortable for a second and gave a small laugh to relieve the tension.

"Shut up. I want to sleep."

" 'Course, boss," he answered with a smile in his voice.

She waited until she was sure he had fallen asleep to whisper back:

"I love you too." She almost jumped in surprise when he kissed her shoulder and answered cheekily:

"Shut up. I want to sleep."


	8. Demons

**Prompt:** by FanGirlingCirca92; for a prompt listen to: Demons by Imagine Dragons

**A/N:** Thank you so much for all the favourites, follows and reviews, guys! You're really kind and amazing and you always make my day!

This fic is inspired by the song "Demons" by Imagine Dragons; the title is the same too. Better if you listen to the song before reading. Set right after Flatline. Enjoy :)

**Title:** _Demons_

**Rating:** K

**Words:** 859

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After what had happened in Bristol, The Doctor left Clara at her house without as much as a goodbye. He didn't want to let his control slip any more than it already had, didn't want her to see just _how_ angry with himself he was. Even if he knew, deep down, that he was more aware than ever of the darkness in his hearts this time around, that he was more than ever convinced that no, he wasn't a good man, despite all that he still wanted to show his best to Clara. He never wanted to let her down. Every time he tried to do better, be better, it was all for her. Even though he knew there was no hope of redemption for him and he expected everything but Heaven.

The Doctor flipped a few switches and sent the TARDIS in the Time Vortex, away from Clara's home, his emotions pensively troubled. Maybe it was what all his companions did, to keep him on the right path, but Clara was special. Different. Despite her saying that she didn't know if he was a good man and that what mattered was that he tried to be one, she refused to see the darkness in her friend. No matter what, she always saw him as a hero, as…well, as the Doctor. Nothing more, nothing less: someone who helped people, who saved the day, who was never cruel or coward, who never gave up and never gave in. She used to be _so_ good. _Too_ good for him. And he had always, always wanted to shelter her, hide the truth from her, protect that bright light in her eyes and act as a much better man that he really was: he was _so_ angry, _furious _with himself for failing at it so blatantly.

The Time Lord paced nervously around the console without a real reason, stopping after a minute to stare at the glowing light of the central column. Clara had showed him that day that hadn't preserved her light at all. His closeness had only made her like him. Maybe, he admitted, they had always been similar, but his influence had undoubtedly been toxic for her.

"_You were an exceptional Doctor, Clara. Goodness had nothing to do with it."_

The Doctor pulled the small console monitor in front of him, staring at the screen for a moment before moving his hands slowly, hesitantly pressing buttons. Clara had been exceptional, indeed. She always was, and the way she had been able to save all those people by herself, without him, being amazing as always, had left him so admired and awestruck at first. At first, before he could realize how he was ruining her. He could try to protect her from everything, but with what was inside him, the doubts, the lies, the darkness and all his demons, there was nowhere they could hide.

On the monitor appeared an image of Clara, her eyes wide and confident, her long brown hair cascading down her shoulders, a knowing smile curving her lips. Even in a simple picture, she appeared utterly beautiful and the Doctor felt his hearts to skip a pair of beats. Sometimes, when she stepped too close to him and looked firmly into his eyes, he felt forced to avoid her gaze, fearful that she might see too much of him. He wasn't even sure of what he was afraid to let her see. Maybe the simple fact that she made his knees go weak when she was so close, maybe he didn't want her to see that. Or perhaps he wanted to hide the struggle in his hearts between his greedy desire to drag her all in and let himself love her, selfishly, let himself corrupt her, and the simple and loving wish to keep her goodness intact, keep Clara what she was: his light in the dark and the only one who could show him how to escape his own demons.

The Doctor let his knuckles and the back of his fingers caress the cheek of the Clara in the image, very gently, the sensitive screen pulsing ever-so-slightly beneath his skin and making it tingle with static electricity. No matter what happened, he would always keep thinking of her as better than him. Even though he was starting to understand that they were so similar, nothing more than what the other deserved, Clara would always be his light. It didn't matter to him that he was unwillingly but inevitably losing that struggle and giving in to his most intimate desires. And he couldn't protect her from himself, unless he let her go. Which he wasn't strong enough to do. Maybe, if it was for the best, for her happiness, maybe he could. What he was certain of was that he would have to face the consequences of the mess he had made, of letting Clara be like him, and soon enough too.

Bending forward, he pressed a very small, very light kiss against the screen, closing his eyes, imagining the little shivers of electricity to be caused by the sheer pleasure of kissing the woman he loved.


	9. His Second Chance

**A/N:** Merry Christmas, guys! Wrote this while re-watching Last Christmas. It's actually some of the Doctor's thoughts during the episode, so **MASSIVE SPOILERS**.

**Disclaimer:** There's also a lot of dialogue from the episode, which I don't own: Steven Moffat wrote the episode.

**Title:** _His Second Chance_

**Rating:** K

**Words:** 1807

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"I'm really here. This is real, yeah?" Clara asks as he confidently flies the TARDIS. He needs to focus. They're in danger, their lives are in danger and he can't think about her. "Doctor? talk to me." Not now. Not about this, the fact he has missed her so much and _gods_ she's here now and he suddenly has this really confusing urge to hold her and never let go. "I never thought I was gonna see you again." Focus. "What's going on out there? What's happening?" The TARDIS is landing, finally. "Oh, that noise. I never knew how much I loved it."

He grabs her arms firmly and looks her in the eyes:

"There's something you have to ask yourself that's important, your life may depend on it. Everybody's life. Do you really believe in Santa Claus?"

~oOo~

"You never told me he was dead. _You said_ he made it back." He's confused. Dismayed, actually. Why would she hide that from him?

"I lied," Clara answers matter-of-factly. "I lied so you'd go home to Gallifrey instead of fussing about me." He feels like his brain and hearts and everything stop working for a moment. _'Oh, Clara.'_

"_She's not alright, you know. And neither are you." _

Now he knows what Santa meant.

They are _so_ alike. Two huge, impossible idiots. "I never found Gallifrey. _I_ lied, so you'd stay with Danny."

He sees realization strike her just as hard as it did him. Surprise, at first, then pain and sadness and guilt. She walks away and waits, wandering if they will discuss this now. Because this means something. He lied to her because he loved her, because he wanted her happy, because _he thought she would be happy_. And she did the same. It has to mean something. He _wants_ it to mean something.

"So we're dying then?"

No, they're not discussing this now. Because yes, they're dying, and yes, they have to focus on that and she knows it. Because she thinks like him.

~oOo~

He's at Clara's door, nervously waiting for her to open it, his teeth tormenting one of his fingertips out of anxiety. He'd like to say he's worried about them dying, but actually he's more concerned about what Clara's dream will look like. A dream that's supposed to be calm, relaxing, distracting… he wants to be in it, be the safety she craves for, but he knows, knows he isn't solution. He's problems, he's complicated and he won't be in her dream. He's afraid Danny will, and it's going to hurt and he's not ready for it. Ready to die for Clara, whether this is reality or dream, but not ready for rejection. Story of his life.

~oOo~

He thinks she's safe now, he thinks they're okay. Unless it's a dream again. They're back at the base and they're still dreaming. He was wrong. He hates that. But he figures it out and it's for sure now that he's right. He saved the day, here, in the dream. Now he's going to set things straight in the real world too. Take his Clara back.

They hold hands and it's nice, he's missed that, the warm skin, the gentle pressure. It feels good, when it comes to her. He belongs to her, he's not programmed to like it from anyone else. Not even in a dream, like now.

~oOo~

It's a dream again. He hates this, he definitely hates it, this dream thing. He'll never dream again, he swears to himself. Everything he thinks of is not working and yes, he's afraid. In fact, he's getting desperate. Despair makes him do stupid things. Things like… believing in Santa Claus, for one.

That's how they end up on a sleigh, the wind blowing persistently and cold with snow, Clara is sitting behind him and he's listening to the sound of her voice. He can hear so well. Just how he remembers it. His dreams are so accurate. He likes that. He's going straight to her now. He's not denying himself one single second more without her.

Then, she's hugging him. Tight, pulling his back against her chest. He stiffens, at first, trying to think of something that isn't her warmth or her heartbeat or her breath or her soft hair caressing his cheek, but then he realizes: this is a dream after all. A shared dream, yes, so it is really Clara there with him, but a dream nonetheless. It's dark and she's behind him and she won't even see the look on his face. He fakes annoyance anyway, but he leans into her touch and smiles. That feels good. His cheek is pressed against hers, her arms pull him closer and he responds, pressing back, melting into her. He should allow himself this more often.

~oOo~

The others are gone and Clara's standing near him. So close, looking at him so intensely, her eyes doing that thing that makes them look so much bigger. He still doesn't know how she does that. He'll ask her when they wake up.

"It's a pity we have to wake up, really. It's not really something we do every day, is it?"

'_Oh, Clara, you really think I won't come for you the moment I wake? Do you really think I'll forget this, do you really think you aren't my first thought every very single time I open my eyes?' _"If we stay, we die, Clara."He feels an irrational, overwhelming need to kiss her now. God knows why. It all feels so blurred. Dreamy, actually.

Then, he's awake. He's confident of that. 100% sure.

~oOo~

"I've missed you very much, you stupid old man."

"I've missed you…too…" he doesn't know what to say as the weight of it all crashes over him. He has been given one chance – and one only – and he's wasted it. He's late. _62 years late_. He keeps calm but he wants to cry. To scream. Something.

Why didn't he look at the temporal coordinates when he flew the TARDIS here? What was he thinking?

He feels in a sort of dream-state, everything is blurred, he's in the living room and he doesn't know how he got there…but this time it's real, he's awake, he has ruined the only chance he really wanted to have in life and it's unbearable.

"Do you really see no difference in me?" Clara asks.

"Clara Oswald, you will never look any different to me."

He tells her. That he sees her for what she is, not what she looks like. _He sees her_. Her true self. He remembers the legend of Gallifrey that narrates, that _this_ is what who's gifted – cursed – with regeneration means with the saying "true love". Something that has nothing to do with looks or personality, not with clothing or age or quirks. It's just about who you really are, no matter the else. Like he was the Doctor and she was Clara Oswald.

It's all over now. He might as well tell her flat out that he loves her, just the human way. But what's the use? She's what, 90, now? Which means that his, this is their last Christmas. Because he will leave and never come back. Because, _no_, he can't see her die. Not again. He was _never_ the strong one. He acts like it but no, he's not strong. He needs to know, though, before he leaves:

"So, how was it, then?"

"How was what?"

"The 62 years that I missed," he answers bitterly in a breath, pretending to look at the photos for clues, because right now he can't even look at her. And besides, his eyes are bright and he doesn't want her to notice it… for a number of reasons.

"Oh. How was my life you mean."

"Is there a Mr Clara?" He has to ask. How many others could she give her heart to, when his hearts were chained and enslaved to her?

"No, but there were plenty of proposals."

"They all turned you down?"

"_I_ turned them down!" She makes a pause. "I travelled. I taught in every country in Europe! I learned to fly a plane."

Oh, he feels it, he's going to cry now. He sits down, trying to stead his breath. "Regrets?" _'Regret lying to me, for example? Did you ever just wish you had me back? Because I've been wishing _you _back, every minute since I stepped in the TARDIS and left you here.'_

"Oh, hundreds. I just wish there was time for a few more."

"Yeah, they're always the best part." Sarcasm maybe will help holding back the tears. "Christmas cracker, we should do one. No one ever matched up to Danny, eh?" he wonders, staring at the floor. He wishes too hard that he had Clara were something. He thought they were, earlier, for some moments, but he just can't be sure. She's always, still, so confusing, so unclear about what she feels for him. And he's like that too, he really doesn't have the bravery to ask. He's too afraid of rejection.

"There was one other man." He looks up at her, uncertain about how to feel. "But that would never have worked out."

"Why not?" he manages to ask.

"He was impossible." Could it be him, could be anyone. Humans are often impossible. He can't tell. He wants it to be him, though.

They open a cracker and he remembers they've done it like this before. _Last Christmas_. How stupid is that? Same words for two different things. Pudding brains and their idiotic languages. "We should do this every Christmas," he murmurs.

"Because every Christmas, is the last Christmas."

"I'm sorry. I was stupid. I should have come back earlier. I wish that I had."

"Do you, Doctor? How much do you wish that?"

~oOo~

"The TARDIS is outside." No more lies.

"So?" No more arguments.

"All of Time and all of Space are sitting out there. A big blue box. Please. Don't even argue."

No more barriers.

Clara gives a small laugh and smiles.

'_Is that a yes?' _He offers his hand.

She takes the hand he's offering. She pulls him close and kisses him on the cheek, just beneath his ear. His skin burns, but it's a nice burn. He smiles like the love-sick teenager she makes him feel like.

"Merry Christmas, Doctor."

His smile grows wider. "Merry Christmas, Clara Oswald."

Clara laughs at the vibrant happiness and excitement in his voice, grabs his hand and pulls him straight out of the door.

"Well, look at you, all happy! That's rare."

"You know what rarer? Second chances. I've never got second chances, so what happened this time? Don't even know who to thank."

He doesn't who to thank, no, but he stops to thank a few gods, for his second chance is with Clara.


	10. It starts as a hug

**A/N:** Post-Last Christmas smut. No particular spoilers. Happy new year!

**Title:** _It starts as a hug_

**Rating:** M (for smut)

**Words:** 2781

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It starts as a hug. One long and tight that takes the Doctor by surprise and has goosebumps cover his skin as warmth spreads in his body. Then Clara presses a kiss on his lips, quick and feather-light but daring and hopeful. He doesn't respond –he's too shocked to- but he doesn't reject her either, and he licks his lips automatically as he stares down at hers.

She smiles and he opens his mouth to say something. He forgets what it was when she takes advantage of his parted lips to kiss him properly, bold and confident, her hands suddenly hot on his cheeks and then in his hair. Something awakens inside him as she presses her body against his and he's kissing her back. There's the bitter taste of who has just woken up, but he doesn't care. There's kissing, lots of it, sloppy and hurried and maybe too wet, there are short gasps and small bites, needy moans and hands pulling closer, grasping clothes, tugging at hair. The Doctor shudders violently every now and then, when she kisses him _just so_ and their bodies touch _just there_ –damn Clara and whatever it is that she does to him that makes him feel like a teenager with an hormonal crisis.

The subtle warmth from before is soon turned into a roaring heat burning his nerves and veins and all else that's left of him –which can't be much given that he feels so light, like he's floating. Her body feels so damn hot even through clothes and he wants her, wants Clara like no other woman before and he's so hard in his pants right now that the zip of his trousers is a torture and he'd take Clara right here on the cold metal floor. It's a good thing that her plans aren't different, apparently, as she has already tossed his jacket behind him and is currently working at the zipper of his hoodie as best as she can without breaking their kiss. It looks like a bad thing that he trips on that same jacket and falls backwards, but when he's about to complain about his shoulders hitting the ground the Doctor notices that Clara is on top of him, straddling his hips and putting off her nightie –she's gloriously naked underneath and that's definitely not a bad thing at all.

He spends a good minute staring at her. She's beautiful, and sensual in her flirtatious confidence as she lets him look, drinking his gaze, almost daring him to deny that he's hers, now and always and forever. Some other man might be able to see her flaws, but not the Doctor: he can only see her gorgeous red, swollen lips, her cheeks flush with arousal and her eyes dark with desire, her silky brown hair, a bit messy now, the curves of her breasts and the large amount of creamy bare skin in the form of skinny arms, a flat stomach and well-toned legs.

The Doctor struggles out of his hoodie and moves to get rid of his jumper and undershirt, but he cannot think straight when Clara hurriedly starts to unbutton and unzip his trousers. He groans throatily and his eyes fall shut. He doesn't even try to stop the instinctive rocking of his back arching off the floor, yearning for her touch as he feels his pants being pulled down a little and her hot small hands on his bare skin. A hint of pre-cum reveals her just how much he wants her –if she hasn't figured already– and he doesn't need to open his eyes to know she's smiling when she strokes his length once and rubs her thumb over the tip, teasing him.

The Doctor growls huskily in protest, something about wanting her _now_, but he finds his eyes open and his breath rate three time faster when Clara slowly sinks down on him. He doesn't do it on purpose, but his hips jerk upwards and thrust hard into her, earning a sound between a gasp and a small scream from Clara, then the briefest laugh.

"Impatient," she breathes, voice low and throaty.

He inhales sharply, barely earing her. The feeling of her body around his, hot and tight and soaking wet for him is overpowering and overwhelming and spreads a whole new level of heat in his nerves with crashing waves of addicting, completing, perfect pleasure, so intense that he is unable to think for some long, wonderful seconds of oblivion. When he returns –at least partly– to reality, he mutters an embarrassed apology.

"Not going to last."

Clara laughs again and adjusts her position on top of him, taking him as deep as possible, their hipbones touching. Her eyes drift shut and she bites her lower lip for a moment.

"Same."

For once, the Doctor is sure she's not lying, if the light contractions of her inner walls around his length are anything to go by.

He's still wearing a jumper and undershirt, his trousers and pants are only pulled down till mid-thigh and his shoes and socks are still on, but he couldn't care less. They start two different, fast and urgent rhythms that soon merge into one, perfectly matching each other. He thrusts forcefully into her to meet her moves and it makes them both moan loudly over and over, with a whimper from Clara and a grunt from the Doctor just now and then, some breathy "_Doctor_"s and dozens of "_Clara_"s. His hands find their place on her upper thighs, cupping her arse firmly enough to leave bruises, her own hands grabbing his forearms tightly, digging small half-moons in the flesh beneath his jumper.

Their breaths become more and more shallow, then turn into broken gasps as the Doctor feels them both rapidly get closer to their climax and roughly pulls Clara down for a fierce kiss, wrapping his arms around her and holding her close, his shoulders lifting off the floor as he pounds into her relentlessly. They stop kissing, they forget to breathe, his eyes slam closed tightly as he feels Clara's heart beat furiously against his still-clothed chest and her muscles clench around him. She comes with a surprised gasp followed by a moan of sheer ecstasy, her breath hot on his neck as he gives a few other thrusts, reaching his climax when Clara is still riding hers, bodies trembling against each other, nerves set aflame and bones shaken, her name on his lips and flashes of light exploding underneath his eyelids.

The Doctor collapses back on the floor and feels Clara lay on his chest, smiling weakly against his skin. He can't move or think, his brain is pleasantly foggy and his body deliciously dizzy, small electric shocks still making him shiver, the hot waves of his orgasm refusing to leave his body completely. After a while he becomes aware of his breath steading, of Clara's gentle weight on him and of the heavy sheet of sweat all over his face and neck. His undershirt is soaked too. He shifts beneath Clara just enough to slide out of her and she presses two small kisses over his hearts, still hammering with the heat of arousal.

"I love you," she whispers almost shyly, spreading a different kind of heat all over him. He smiles in spite of himself.

"Pointless to say it, now that you've shown me," he murmurs.

"It's never pointless to say certain things," she retorts, looking up at him.

He holds her a little closer and smiles again, pressing his chin against the top of her head, starting to trace circles on her bare back that might or might not be an ancient love poem in Gallifreyan. Clara moves to rest her elbows on his chest, interrupting him, staring down at him.

"What is it?" he asks.

"I'm waiting for you to say it."

"Oh."

"I understand now that you've said it before. Just not the words."

"Maybe it's because those words don't even start to describe what I feel for you, Clara. They don't mean enough. The English language is so limited in this matter," he explains gently.

"Words are just words, Doctor. They mean what you want them to mean."

He thinks about it for a second, then whispers: "You are probably an amazing teacher, Clara."

"So?"

"I love you, Clara Oswald," he promises, looking straight into her eyes. "What do you make of that?"

"I don't know yet, but I'm sure I'll find quite some things to _do_."

Clara moves half-sitting on his chest and grins wickedly down at him. The Doctor's breath gets caught in his throat and he wonders if this is another dream, just because, to him, she appears too beautiful to be just human. More like a goddess. Her skin is glowing with light sweat and a new blush is making its way on her face and neck, her eyes are dark again and she stares into his eyes with this sort of expectant gaze, somewhere between a hunter looking at his prey and athlete yearning for his prize.

"Why are you looking at me like…that?" he manages to babble.

"I'm lacking a mirror now, but I think this is my 'bed, now' look," she states firmly, this curious spark in her eyes that he doesn't quite understand.

"I might not be an expert, but you don't look sleepy to me.

"I never said anything about sleep. I said. Bed. Now." To emphasise her point she bends over and takes his lower lip between her teeth, pulling gently, letting go of it very slowly only to trace its line with her tongue. The Doctor can't tell why it feels so amazingly erotic, but it leaves him flustered and longing for more. Now he understands what she wants –because he wants it too all of a sudden.

Clara doesn't bother to retrieve her nightie, forcing him to struggle with pulling his trousers and pants up properly again and to hurry to avoid walking behind her, just so he can look where he's going instead of staring at the smooth skin of her backside.

He shows her his bedroom, and she spends little time glancing around, comfortably sitting on his bed instead, belonging there as if it was hers –actually, it always was. The Doctor is still standing in the middle of the room, still staring at her. He really can't help it, there's nothing else worth looking at when Clara's around.

"Undress for me," she half-pleads half-orders. "I want to see all of you."

He slowly tosses his jumper on the pavement, then tugs his white undershirt out of his trousers, Clara's gaze fixed on him as he gets rid of that garment too, leaving his chest bare for her too see. Next his shoes are unlaced and taken off, then it's the turn of his socks as she watches attentively. Clara gives a small appreciative smile when his trousers and pants pool on the floor and he steps out of them, every inch of his skin exposed to her eager brown eyes. The Doctor blushes as she stares hungrily at him in a way that's shamelessly lustful and wanton –his ears are probably purple red now, considering the way they're burning.

"Turn around," she requests.

"Clara!" he tries to protest. He has called her game-player before –he didn't know when he was well off.

"Do as you're told, Doctor."

He obeys with a heavy sigh. When he faces her again she's grinning contently and crooking a finger at him. As the Doctor steps closer, Clara scoots herself up towards the centre of the bed. He climbs on the mattress and she pulls him close until he ends up between her parted thighs. She presses a lingering kiss on his lips.

"Look at you," she whispers, smiling.

"What about me?"

"You," she answers simply, pushing him back a little and starting to explore his chest with her hands, caressing lightly, counting his ribs with her thumbs, massaging his shoulders and arms, making his eyes drift close and an involuntary hum escape his lips.

Clara kisses him again and it's gentle now, tender, little warm sparks making his lips tingle as he puts his hands on her cheeks. He takes his time to taste her mouth and caress her tongue with his, he pushes her down on the sheets and covers her body with kisses and small licks and love bites as her hands roam all over his back, causing them both to sigh and shiver. The Doctor shows her that he _does_ have some experience at his hands and Clara rewards him with long moans and some muttered obscenities when he sucks lightly at her clit and laps at her, parting the lips of her sex with his tongue and letting out a pleased moan himself as he tastes their shared orgasm. Soon he adds his fingers to help his mouth. She rocks her hips upwards rhythmically as he pleasures her, and he smiles at the way her right hand grips his hair tightly, almost painfully, and her left gives the same treatment to sheets. It's an unexpected turn-on to hear all the "Fuck"s and "Oh, Doctor"s and some particularly colourful comments about his fingers being long and slender and extremely talented.

He makes her come, hard, and after a minute or so spent trying to catch her breath she's eager to taste herself in his mouth, move on top of him and repay the favour, even though she's still panting lightly. The Doctor isn't able to keep track of the noises he makes when he feels the heat of her mouth surrounding the tip of his cock, the calculated moves of her tongue and her small deft hands caressing his balls or the sensitive skin of his inner thighs: there is a long series of profanities in Gallifreyan, though, and at least one hundred little groans that sound unmistakably like her name. His head is pressed back into the pillow, neck tensed, his eyes shut so tight they hurt and his hands closed in fists around the sheets in a vain attempt to anchor himself to reality. Clara is careful not to make him come, she _just_ teases him to the point of insanity, enough to make him beg –which is exactly what she wants.

They take it slower this time -_Clara _lets him take it slower- and the Doctor is grateful for it. She pulls him on top, and he doesn't know if it's a sign of trust or submission or both or something else entirely, but it feels nice –she looks so small and vulnerable like this. They make love in a way that feels very sweet to him, less loud and less frenzied but not less passionate, her legs wrapped around his waist keeping him close and her hands caressing his neck, arms and shoulders as a new sheet of sweat covers them both. He savours the smiles in between her quiet moans: maybe they're contagious because he starts smiling now and then too, or maybe he's just happy to be with her now, like this, skin to skin, without veils, just being honest with each other for once instead of hiding their feelings.

After many long minutes this slow pace stops being enough, for both of them. The Doctor starts thrusting faster and harder almost automatically in response to his need and Clara matches his rhythm instinctively, rocking her hips upwards, pulling him close for a kiss. He can feel her heart beating like a drum and his heartbeats aren't any calmer, he can hear the blood rushing in his veins. He feels heat and electricity burn his nerves more and more as pleasure takes over, tension tightening at the pit of his stomach. His arms hurt with the effort of supporting his weight but he forgets that when Clara shudders beneath him with a new orgasm, pulling him over the edge with her in a second.

They lay in each other's arms, catching their breath together. Clara laughs softly and the Doctor kisses her smiling lips before rolling beside her. She snuggles against him and hugs him tenderly. He kisses her forehead once, then twice and pulls her close, grabbing a warm blanket to cover them.

"I love you." They say it at the same time, and they laugh.

"I'm so tired," Clara murmurs, searching his gaze, her eyes bright.

"I know," he soothes. "Sleep, Clara. I'm here, I'm not going anywhere," he assures.

"I'm not letting you go anywhere without me, Doctor," she whispers, only half-awake.

The sound of her voice is enough to lull him to sleep.


End file.
